


Table Tennis for Beginners

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [8]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Paddling, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, Table tennis, Wimbledon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom steered me to a ping-pong table and handed me a paddle. I twirled it in my hand, then looked up as he took a position at the far end.</p><p>“Play me?”</p><p>“Sure.” I shrugged as I took my place opposite him. “What do I get if I win?”</p><p>He smirked. “Me.”</p><p>“Please.” I plucked a ball out of a champagne bucket to my right. “Give me something I actually want.”</p><p>Tom rubbed his chin. “Winner punishes loser, no questions asked.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table Tennis for Beginners

“So you’re sure this is okay?”

I looked up at Tom’s friend Patrick, comforted by his sweet smile and the look of delight in his eyes.

“Of course it is!” Patrick laughed as he pressed a ring of keys into my hand. “Tom loves surprises. His girlfriend showing up in England when she’s supposed to be in Chicago? Brilliant.”

We were standing just inside the door of Tom’s house, which I’d never been to before. Hell, I’d never been to London before. I still wasn’t sure what possessed me to fly here for July 4th weekend to surprise him.

I blamed British Airways’ barrage of marketing emails advertising cheap fares between O’Hare and Heathrow. I blamed a surprise bonus at work that I knew would be better off in my savings account but instead became a round-trip ticket to London.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Patrick took my bag and set it in the living room. “So how did you guys meet again?”

“At the library of all places.” I chuckled as Patrick shut the door behind me. We made our way into the living room, where we both sank onto an impossibly comfortable couch. “I was at my alma mater, taking a tour of the newest library on campus. Tom was in town doing research for a new project, and his local fixer or whatever asked if he could join.”

Patrick smirked. “I bet he asked loads of questions, didn’t he?”

“Of course he did! The others on the tour were all old, wealthy alumni. They just wanted to know how much everything cost and point out which bricks in the new building had their names engraved on them. Tom wanted to know everything, from how the Dewey Decimal System was established to the implementation and construction of the ASRS.”

“ASRS?” Patrick arched an eyebrow at me.

I nodded. “Automated Storage and Retrieval System. I’d done my research before the tour.”

“So if Tom was asking all the questions…?”

“I was telling him all the answers.” I cackled.

Patrick laughed.

“And that’s when we were asked to leave.”

“No!”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Apparently our conversation was a distraction to the swells, so an assistant came and very kindly asked us to get the fuck out of there.”

Patrick howled. “You two are awful!”

“The worst! Even after we were escorted out of the building, he stood there yelling at me about how Shakespeare was the greatest writer of the English language because I’d been foolish enough to bait him and declare that it was Toni Morrison.”

“Oh my god…” Patrick groaned. “You can’t talk shit about his boy Will.”

“Well, yeah. I know but I thought it was the best way to keep him talking to me.”

“And did he? Keep talking?”

I leaned forward. “Excuse me, but have you met your friend Tom Hiddleston?”

We both rocked with laughter, Patrick gasping for air. “And where did it go from there?”

“We kept arguing, from his beloved Shakespeare to books in general, then to politics and religion. I thought it was over when his driver showed up but then he got into the car and waited for me to climb in after him so we could keep fighting!”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “That’s insane.”

“It’s the truth!”

“So what happened once you got in the car?”

I blushed. “We, ah, we stopped fighting.”

Patrick smirked. “Really?”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “We were all worked up. And it was a long ride back to his hotel from campus.”

“Oh my god.” Patrick rolled his eyes, and I could only shrug.

We both jumped when we heard my phone go off. I fumbled for it, finding it in my messenger bag, and answered the call. It was Tom.

“Hey baby.” Patrick mouthed _What a coincidence_ and I giggled.

“Darling!” Tom’s purr made me melt in an instant. “Good morning.”

“Good af… I mean, good morning to you too, sweet.”

“How was tennis? You did go to class, yes?

“Yeah, and it was great! My serve is no longer bad. Now it’s just mediocre!”

“That’s my girl.” Tom sounded so proud, I felt a warmth in my stomach. I nodded as Patrick waved goodbye and let himself out. As soon as he was gone, I lay back on the couch and got comfortable.

“How’s the tennis, old man?” I affected a clipped, jaunty English accent. “Wimbledon as chipping as ever? Got enough strawberries and cream to last you through the day?”

“Brilliant, just brilliant.” He sighed. “I wish you were here.”

“Why’s that?” I whisper. “What do you suppose you’d do with me if I was there?”

“I’d bring you to the women’s final. You’d wear the white shirtdress, the one with the full skirt and the buttons that go all the way up the front.”

“Very nice, sir,” I breathed. That very dress was in my suitcase. “What else?”

“[The Ray-Bans](http://www.ray-ban.com/usa/sunglasses/RB3016%20unisex%201-clubmaster%20classic-black/805289653653) I got you for your birthday.” He paused - I could hear him thinking. “The knickers that are the color of your cheeks after I’ve fucked you.”

“You mean the ones I’m wearing right this very minute?” I worked my free hand down the front of my jeans and began to touch myself.

“Oh fuuuuuck…” He groaned.

I sighed. “What else am I wearing?”

“Ballet flats. And no bra.”

I gulped. “But you do realize that if I go bra-less my nipples will be visible under the white dress?”

“Eheheheheh. I know, love. That’s the idea.”

“So I’d tell people my strawberries fell into my dress then, and just happened to land on my tits?”

He laughed softly. “Tell them whatever you like.”

I pushed my jeans down my past my hips and kick them off. I open my legs wider and begin to circle my clit with a couple of fingers.

“So…. we’re at Wimbledon. Serena Williams is absolutely killing some poor French or Russian player on Centre Court. What’s next?”

“You’ve got a dish of strawberries and cream in your hands, which are just above your lap. My hand is buried between your thighs, slipped into, not under, your dress because of some buttons you’ve popped at my instruction. So it just looks I’ve got my hand on your thigh, not in your delicious quim."

I whimpered. “Oh fuck…”

“I’m not done yet. The heel of my hand would pushing on your mound, middle finger plunging in and out of you, brushing your clit just so. Just the way you like it, love. Maybe I’ll lean over and whisper in your ear, making it look like I’m being my usual charming self when in fact I’ll be telling you, in excruciating detail, about all the lovely dirty things I’ll do to you once we’re in the car back to town.”

“Tom, please….”

“Hush. And then I’ll take my finger out, the one that’s been inside of you, so it’s sticky with your nectar, draw it through the cream, then suck it all off. Maybe I’ll dab some cream on your nose, just to be playful. Now, we’ll be in some nice seats, but not nice enough that there won’t be pictures of me and you in the stands, taken with telephoto lenses by the paparazzi that always set up just outside the stadium. So we’ve got to behave ourselves, don’t you see? Everything from, say, the shoulders up, while we’re seated, will show the debonair English actor treating his charming American house sitter to the VIP experience at Wimbledon. But underneath, where those cameras can’t see, will be an incredibly horny man making up for lost time with his profoundly sexy girlfriend by fingerfucking her in the middle of tens of thousands of spectators whose eyes will be trained on the game. Just like that.”

He paused.

“You can come now, if you like.”

So I did.

I made sure Tom could hear every sigh, every moan, every whimper of his name as I came on his couch. My breath caught when I realized he’d be home in a matter of hours, and he could make me come again, not just with his voice but with his lips, his hands, his cock. He could finger me while we sat down to tea in his tidy kitchen, or he could bend me over the back of this couch and fuck me from behind while I screamed into the upholstery. He could go down on me in his bedroom, or fuck my face in the garden.

He could do anything. Because I wanted him, because I loved him. I loved the way he wanted me, the way he loved me. Unabashedly, and without restraint.

Though the times he did love me while employing the use of restraints were pretty great, too.

“You okay?” His voice was tender.

I sighed. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He sounded a little choked up. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll be home in a few hours. Call you then?”

“Yeah. Call me.” I moaned as I stretched.

“Do that again.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Mmmmm.” I vocalized as I stretched, then curled into a ball. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I sat up and looked around the room. It was elegant and clean. It smelled fresh but not like cleaning supplies. It smelled like him. I felt at home.

Grabbing my bag and my jeans, I left the keys Patrick gave me on the coffee table, then made my way upstairs to find Tom’s bedroom and take a nap.

* * *

I woke up in a mental fog. It was pleasant and, given that I was in London, entirely appropriate.

My fog was pierced by the shriek of the alarm I’d set on my phone before I closed my eyes. Three hours had passed, and it was nearly 5, but no Tom. No missed calls or texts. I thought nothing of it, at least not until I peed, and fetched a glass of water in the kitchen. While I hydrated, I checked Tumblr on my phone and there he was.

Or rather, there they were. My Tom, sitting in a prime seat at Wimbledon. Right next to the actress he was rumored to be hooking up with, or had hooked up with when they worked together last year. Both wearing sunglasses, drinking champagne and eating strawberries. Some photos showed him leaning forward to talk to somebody in the row in front of him. Others showed them checking their phones, and cheering of course. But, for the most part, the pictures showed them smiling and having a good time. Together. All day.

They looked like a lovely couple.

I wanted to scream. Why hadn’t he said anything about her? Why didn’t he tell me they were together for hours, looking cozy and adorable and perfect while I, dummy that I was, slept away the afternoon, blissfully unaware?

Could it be, a tiny, sweet voice in my head asked, because there was absolutely nothing to tell?

I wanted to tell that tiny, sweet voice to fuck the fuck off. And I would have, while running upstairs to get my shit together, pack, and go back to the airport.

Except that was when I noticed the pictures. Not the ones on-line, no. The pictures in Tom’s house.

Small framed ones in the kitchen window. Pictures of us that I recognized as printouts of iPhone photos we’d texted each other. Not the dirty ones, no, but the sweet ones, scattered among photos of his family and his friends. Not a lot of them, but they were definitely there.

I ran upstairs and looked around Tom’s bedroom. On his nightstand there was a strip of photos of us, taken in the booth at Schubas, tucked into a worn copy of The Odyssey. Under his pillows, my scarf — I’d wound it around his neck the last time I took him to the airport, after he complained that he’d freeze on the flight back home. I picked it up and inhaled. It smelled like my perfume.

I curled up in his bed. Grabbing the book off the nightstand, I held it with one hand in front of my face, taking a selfie with the other, making sure to get the headboard of his bed behind me. I texted the picture to Tom with the message “just doing some reading - mind if I borrow this?”

I fluffed my hair and waited for the phone to ring. Which it did, about 10 seconds after I sent the photo.

“CARMEN!”

“Tom!” I smiled as I placed the book carefully back on his nightstand.

“You… you’re… here. In England. In London. In my house. In my bed.”

“I am.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s funny. There are these winged machines called airplanes and... ”

“Hilarious.” I heard him take a deep breath. “Seriously, though.”

“British Airways had a sale the same day I got a surprise bonus. This was Tuesday. I texted Patrick Wednesday…”

“Good old Patrick!”

“And he picked me up at Heathrow this morning.”

“How long are you here?”

I didn’t respond to his question, because that was when I heard his front door open.

Daddy’s home.

I didn’t call out to him. Instead I waited for him to find me in his bed. I listened to the sound of his feet running up the stair and then there he was.

Tom stood at the foot of the bed, phone in hand, jacket hanging off his arm. His hair was blond and short, his face cleanshaven. His blue eyes were made lighter by the gray of his suit. He looked so cool. Or he would have if he wasn’t panting, his neck flushed from the heat.

I jumped up just as he lunged at me so naturally we collided and he headbutted my tits, knocking me to one side. I fell back on the bed, laughing and squealing as he sat up and took me in his arms. I pressed my face into his neck and sniffled a little, then looked up.

“Surprise, baby.”

“Hello, love.” He tenderly pushed some errant curls out of my eyes, then kissed me softly, sweetly. He cupped my cheek in his hand.

“How was the tennis?”

“What?” His forehead wrinkled as he thought. “Oh right, Wimbledon.” He shrugged. “It was fun.”

“That’s it? The pictures I found online seemed to show you were having a great time. As you should!” I kissed his shoulder. “How’s old what’s her name anyway?” I smiled as he groaned in my ear.

“Fuck! There are pictures already?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

I nodded. “She’s gorgeous, Tom.” I smiled when he took my hand in his and squeezed it. “You looked like you were having a good time.”

“We were. She’s a nice girl.” He nodded. “But she’s not you.”

“Okay.” I felt relieved, and a little calm. I let out a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Event staff seated her next to me for the afternoon matches, good photo op. Former co-star and all.”

“Makes sense.” I unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt, then slipped my hand inside so I could feel his heart beating in his chest. “So what now?”

Tom sighed. “There’s a party tonight, one of the sponsors. I said I’d go. But I don’t have to.”

“Will there be champagne? Table tennis?” When he nodded, I grinned. “Two of your favorite things. You should go. I can hang here.”

“Why would you do that?” Tom frowned at me as I got up and stretched in front of him.

“What actor brings his house sitter to a party with that much press?”

Tom shook his head. “We really need to quit with the house sitter story.”

“But it’s good for your image, to appear unattached and all.” I stopped talking when I saw the pained look that crossed his face. I kissed his cheek. “You’re right. You’re right.” I sighed. “I know you’re right.”

Tom pulled me against him and nuzzled my belly. “Okay, Cinderella — let’s go to the ball.”

* * *

The party was like nothing I’d ever been to. Just about every bright young thing in England was there, sipping champagne and posing for photographs next to one of several ping-pong tables scattered around a huge loft that took up an entire floor of a building in a newly hip corner of East London. All the girls were actresses or shoe designers or healers or stylists and were named after flowers. I met at least three Poppys, five Daisys, four Hyacinths, and two Posys. Almost too many Roses to count. There was even a pair of sisters named Peaches and Plum.

The boys were all ginger and blond, tall and entirely too skinny with freckled cheeks and arms that appeared to be too long for their shirtsleeves. They all knew Tom from school or just around town, but these weren’t people he ever told me about. I didn’t recognize the gang of Freddies, Chesters, and Montys who double-fisted their Pimm’s cup and brayed whenever Tom said something even remotely funny. It was friendly, I guess. But I didn’t feel we were among friends. Not really.

I felt self-conscious in my white shirtdress, which had seemed so right at home, when I saw that the other women wore designer frocks and carried handbags that cost twice as much as my plane ticket. I felt underdressed and undereducated in a room of the fanciest, shiniest, most eligible people of marrying age in England. The perfect progeny of peerage, potential pals and playmates for someone like Tom.

Before I got so maudlin I drowned myself in a bowl of punch, Tom steered me to a ping-pong table and handed me a paddle. I twirled it in my hand, then looked up as he took a position at the far end.

“Play me?”

“Sure.” I shrugged as I took my place opposite him. “What do I get if I win?”

He smirked. “Me.”

“Please.” I plucked a ball out of a champagne bucket to my right. “Give me something I actually want.”

Tom rubbed his chin. “Winner punishes loser, no questions asked.”

“Really?” I pressed my hips against the edge of the table, rolling them a little. I saw Tom’s eyes go glassy when I did this. “Okay, asshole. Your funeral.”

I unbuttoned the top of my dress, down to the bra line. I didn’t pull it open, I am a lady after all, but I did leave a slim expanse of skin to help me stay cool. I expected to work up a sweat. And I may be crap at tennis but ping-pong? I fuck some shit up when I play ping-pong.

We volleyed for serve, with Tom winning it. After that, he beat me in three straight sets. Appallingly easy. I mean, I know I’m good, but the man is fit (with the ass to prove it), and his tennis game is great. So of course table tennis would be a snap. I had a great time, despite the loss. The guests began the game cheering him on, the hometown boy with the perceived advantage, but by the end of the first set, I had these [Old Etonians](http://www.etoncollege.com/FamousOEs.aspx) and [Harrovians](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Old_Harrovians) chanting “CARMEN! CARMEN! CARMEN!” and crowing every time I trash talked Tom after a particularly vicious point. So while I lost the match, I won the people’s heart, which felt nice.

We were the last guests at the party, both of us sipping champagne through bendy straws out of miniature bottles. We were in the supposed VIP section. Screens afforded us some privacy from the catering staff who were too busy cleaning to notice we were still there. Tom leaned against the table, then straightened up and held his hand out to me.

“Sweet Carmen, your chariot awaits. Shall we to home? Shall we to bed, or the car if you can’t wait, you filthy thing?” He chuckled but when I didn’t join him he stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not really going to punish me, are you?” I asked him coyly.

Tom looked indignant, then straightened up and puffed his chest out. “Of course not, darling.”

“You chicken?”

His nostrils flared at my question. “No. But you just got here, you’ve got to be tired. And we’ve never done discipline. We’ve done pretty well without it, haven’t we?”

I smiled up at him when he pulled me into his arms. “Of course. We’re perfect. No need.” I leaned back so he could bend down and kiss my throat. “Let’s go home”.

Tom walked ahead of me, tugging me along with one hand. He was keen on finding the exit, so he wasn’t looking at me when, with my free hand, I stole a pink ping-pong paddle and slid it into my purse.

* * *

“Nightcap darling?”

I nodded in response to Tom’s question, watched him kick off his shoes and remove his jacket before he made his way into the kitchen.

“Sure. I’ll just clear off the kitchen table.” I was a few feet behind him, and leaned against the table when he turned around.

“Oh, no need to clear off the whole table, not when…” Tom turned around and stopped speaking when I opened my purse and withdrew the paddle. I held it up, turning it around in my hand before placing it on the table’s edge.

“We’re not done playing, are we?” Tom’s voice was rough, but quiet.

“No. We’re not.”

Tom leaned against the counter, looking at me in a way that was appraising and possessive. He went to the refrigerator, opening the door to take out a bottle of water. He approached the table, placing the bottle next to the paddle. Taking a deep breath, he took a good look at my face. I didn’t return his gaze.

“You still want that spanking, don’t you?”

Head still down, I shook my head again.

“No. I don’t want that spanking.”

Then I looked up at him, boldly staring him in the eye.

“I need it.”

The table was a thing of beauty. Dark and heavy, it looked like the sort of table meant for dinner parties and holiday buffets. It was perfect. I ran my hand along the edge until Tom caught it in his. He kissed my palm.

“Carmen, do you know why we’re here?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “We’re here because you get off on spanking naughty girls like me.”

“Brat!” Tom growled. “Such impertinence merits an extra paddling.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

I inhaled as Tom placed his hands on my waist. He unbuttoned the top of my dress, pulling it open. He pulled down my bra, baring my breasts to him, but he didn’t remove it. He pinched my nipples, chuckling when he heard me gasp.

“Turn.” He put his hands on my hips and turned me towards the table. I felt him push me down slowly, stroking my back as I got comfortable. The wood felt cool and hard under my body. My nipples were so hard I had to wiggle a little to seek relief but I only got more turned on as I ground them into the table. I turned my head, resting my cheek against the top. The table was high enough, or my legs were short enough, that I needed the extra height my heels provided to keep in touch with the floor.

Tom pressed his hips against my ass, keeping me still as he drew my arms back, crossing them at the wrist. He took a step back, then appeared at my side, leaning in close so he could stroke my hair at the temple. It was soothing.

“What do we do?” I whispered.

“As this is your first time being disciplined, I’d like you to acknowledge that. And also that I have your permission to proceed.”

I nodded.

“Baby, I need you say it.”

I nodded again. “This is my first time being disciplined. You have my permission.” He purred, and I felt a warmth in my stomach when he did.

“I’m going to spank you. With my hand.”

“You’re going to spank me with your hand. That’s good.” I bit my lip.

“I’m going to warm you up with a few gentle swats to your ass, rubbing after to soothe you. You won’t see it, but your ass will be a little pink. It might feel like a sunburn. May I?”

“Of course.”

Tom stepped away and I relaxed my legs when I felt him tug my panties over my hips and down my legs. He flipped up my skirt so I felt cool air on my ass and legs. It felt good.

“Beautiful. So beautiful.” I felt his hand on my right ass cheek, right before he slapped it once. Bright and sharp, that slap. I felt my skin tingle. And then his hand was warm, so warm, when he rubbed the spot to soothe it.

“Feel good?”

“Yes, Tom.”

“Now, once more on the right, then twice on the left.”

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl.”

I whimpered my thanks, as he spanked me, then soothed me. Spank, soothe. It was incredible.

Tom leaned down next to me again. “It’s a little pink down there. How does it feel?”

“It’s… it’s perfect. Could you keep rubbing my butt while you talk to me?”

“Of course, love.” He reached down and massaged me gently.

“You’re going to let me know if it feels bad, either physically or emotionally. And when you do, I will stop immediately. If it is a pain you cannot bear, you will tell me to stop and I will take care of you.”

I nodded. “I’m going to let you know if it feels bad, and when I do you’ll stop. You’ll take care of me.”

“You can come whenever you want. I won’t stop you from doing that.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

He kissed me gently on the lips. “I promise you.” He took a deep breath. “Do you know what a safe word is, darling?”

“I do. I say it, and you stop. We stop what we’re doing.”

“Good girl. So what is yours, please?”

“Trumpet.”

“Trumpet? That’s the word?” He smiled at me.

“Yes.”

“Thank you, baby.” He kissed me again, then pushed himself up. He made to move away but stopped, and leaned in close again. “What if you can’t say the word? Is there a gesture you can do?”

I bit my lip. “I’ll unclasp my hands and, erm, slap the table.”

“Very good.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Thank you.”

I was shaking as he planted himself behind me. I felt him brush the fullest part of my left ass cheek with his lips, then plant a soft kiss to my lower back, just above the cleft of my ass. I tensed when I felt his hand on the small of my back. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the real slap, my first in my first discipline scene ever. I was so wet, actually dripping in anticipation, when I felt his touch lighten.

“Baby, I’m sorry but I forgot to tell you how many times I’m going to spank you.”

“Oh. That’s okay. I like surprises.”

“No. You need to know what to expect. 10 times with my hand only. 5 on each side. Not much harder than the warm-up. And you don’t have to count them out. This time.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath and when I exhaled he slapped my ass. It was light, just a touch harder than the warm-up. Just like he said. I’m pretty sure his fingers smarted more than my butt.

The slaps that followed were quick and sharp. Each was followed immediately with a gentle rub, a caress, Tom making sure that my skin was still rosy and not broken. “That’s my good girl.”

He slipped a hand between my legs at some point, gasping when he felt how wet I was. I moaned when he moaned as he traced my folds, then I whimpered when he drew the tip of his finger across my clit.

“Oh darling,” he murmured. “As if you hadn’t blessed me enough.”

I giggled. “I try my best.”

When he was done with the first ten slaps, which I felt were over much too soon, I closed my eyes as he leaned down next to me. His hand stroked my back, going all the way down to my ass, where his fingers would brush me, where the skin tingled.

“Carmen?”

“Yes?”

“You okay?”

“I hardly know… it was amazing. I feel good.”

“I know it could be better. Harder, maybe.” He kissed my cheek. “I want to be careful.”

“It was beautiful. Thank you.” I opened my eyes and I was instantly warmed by the pride I could see in his eyes.

“You’re so sweet.”

“But, the thing is, I don’t want to be just sweet. I want it to sting. Just a little more. It’s my first time. I want it to be perfect.”

“Brat.“ Tom chuckled, then bit his lip. “How do you do suppose I do that?”

“Could you try it again? With the paddle?”

He smirked. “Of course we can, darling.” He ran a finger across the tip of my nose. “Whatever you like.”

I closed my eyes and hummed. “Thank you.”

“Okay, love.” He whispered in my ear. “Thank you for being such a gracious loser at table tennis.”

He stood up and took the paddle in his right hand. I felt the flat of it, first on my hip, then slowly across my buttocks.

“Five, only five. I’ll use the same force and speed as I did with my hands. And only on the fullest part of your bottom. Nowhere near the top.”

“Yes, Tom.” I took a deep breath.

I cried out as he slipped his left hand around me and brought his fingers to rest on my sex. Oh god...

“What’s your word again? And your gesture, if you please?”

“My word is trumpet. My gesture is hitting the table with my hand.”

“Perfect.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Carmen.”

“I love you, To‒”

Tom cut me off with the first swing of the paddle, hitting the bottom of my right ass cheek. I moaned, rolling my hips. The sting was delicious, and I spasmed when his finger began to circle my clit.

“That’s one,” he whispered.

The second one was on the left, also the bottom of the cheek but angled towards my inner thigh. Three was also on the left, more centered. With every stroke, his fingers slid deeper into my core, and my clit was teased harder.

“Two more. Am I stopping?” His voice was soft, but rough at the edges.

“No,” I hissed. “Never.”

He hit my right cheek, just above the spot of the first strike. He kissed me there, moaning as drew his lips away. “One more.”

He swung the paddle, striking my left ass cheek one last time. I was breathless, undone. I heard Tom drop the paddle immediately, and then he was at my side. I felt him unclasp my arms, then help me stand and turn around to face him. As he did, I felt his erection brush against me.

“Oh Tom…”

And that was all I could say before he grabbed me by the hips and lifted me back onto the table. The sound of his belt unbuckling just made me moan louder. I spread my legs, crying out when I felt his cock push into me.

I leaned back, supporting myself with one hand. I slipped my other hand down, finding my clit with my fingers, pinching it as Tom pounded into me. He pressed his forehead into mine, and we were close enough he could wrap an arm around me, pressing the other to the table to support himself, to support us. I wrapped the arm I’d been using to prop myself up around his neck. I scooted closer, my legs opening wider, and there I was. Open to him, completely exposed. My hips were sore, and my ass stung after the spanking and the paddling. But I didn’t care. I was close. So close. And then I came. My orgasm was quick and sharp, and I cried out. I felt… I felt amazing.

Not at ease, though, as Tom hadn’t come yet. And I wanted him to. I wanted him to come in me so bad. Somehow, in this state brought on by exhaustion and pain and the sheer pleasure that comes with being teased and then spanked and then paddled and then fucked by the man I loved, I managed to lean back on my arm again, replacing his. I took his hand and placed it at the base of my throat.

Tom didn’t speak. He just looked at me, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide with lust. He just looked at me, grunting and cursing while his thrusts became harder and faster and longer, and kept his grasp on my neck. Sitting on this hard table, my ass still bearing the marks of what I hoped would be the first of many paddlings to come, gasping as his large strong hand squeezed me gently around the throat, I found myself in ecstasy even after my own orgasm had subsided.

Tom grit his teeth but kept his eyes on mine as he continued to fuck me. I rolled my hips when his began to jerk, and then he went stiff as he finally climaxed. I felt his cum begin to leak onto my leg, even while he was still inside me. It felt filthy and delicious, and I loved it. I grabbed him as best I could, moaning in his ear as the last shocks of his orgasm worked through him.

We helped each other to the couch, snuggling close as he pulled a blanket around us. I lay on top of him, squirming in delight at the feeling of his cock pressed against my hip. Tom ran his arms down my back and over my ass. I reached for him, cupping his jaw in my hand so he could kiss me deeply. I broke the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip with my teeth as I did.

“Holy shit.”

“Ordinarily, I’d make fun of your lack of eloquence but in this moment, those are the only words that come to mind.” Tom kissed the top of my head.

“Yeah, and I’d talk trash right back at you but right now I’m too spent to do anything but lie here.”

“I could do this with you forever.”

“Aw!” I bucked my hips when he slapped my ass, gently this time, and sighed when he rubbed the spot.

“How long do we have?”

“A week. That was all the time I could get off with such short notice.”

“A week? We can get a lot done in a week. I could take you to Wimbledon, feed you strawberries and cream. Just as I described.” He laughed when I nodded eagerly.

“Can we try this again?” I looked up to find him gazing at me.

“The spanking, you mean?” He smiled when I nodded. “Oh yes. And we should make time for table tennis lessons. You need the practice. Although I do adore when you lose," he smirked.

I bit his chest playfully. “Asshole.”

He stroked my ear. “Brat.”

“I love you.” He bent down to kiss me again.

“I love you, too.” 


End file.
